As the Ebon Hawk closed in on Atris' hidden academy on Telos, the ship grew colder. Unprepared for the frigid temperatures and arctic blasts of the polar ice caps, the ship's heating system had shut down, making for cold days and even colder nights. Bao-Dur worked tirelessly to fix the contraption, but nothing worked. Everyone was feeling the effects, but none so much as Meetra.
Despite piling on blankets and wearing multiple layers of clothing at all times, the cold impacted her already weakened immune system and frayed nerves. The majority of her waking hours were spent shivering as she determined a course of action to deal with Atris and Kreia or vomiting what little she'd eaten in the refresher. For several days she'd tried to hide her new and ever-worsening illness from the crew, but the size of the small ship made it nearly impossible to keep secrets of any sort.
Shortly after waking, Meetra began looking over schematics of the academy with Mira and Mical, only to feel the increasingly familiar stirring in her stomach. Though she didn't want to worry either of them, she couldn't help it - immediately, she jumped up and rushed to the refresher to spew, barely making it in time as she slammed the door behind her.
"Glad to see she passed all her physicals," Mira deadpanned.
"No, I fear she may be ill, Mira," Mical responded, still unattuned to the subtle nuances of sarcasm. "I'm terribly worried about her."
Ignoring the all-too-easy opportunity to make fun of the Disciple, Mira sighed. "Look, it's probably nothing, but would you mind, I don't know, running some tests or something on her? I hate to be the sentimental one, but I know mynock brains would be taking care of her if he were here. Maybe we could pick up the slack?"
Though the topic of Atton and Meetra's not-so-secret relationship still tugged at his heart, Mical nodded. "I'll draw some blood samples when she's done."
"By the way," she narrowed her green eyes at Mical. "Have you been eating more than lately? I bought enough food for the six of us back on Telos, but it's going faster than it should."
"No," he shook his head. "Perhaps the Exile has been eating more because of her illness?"
As if on cue, an abnormally pale Meetra exited the refresher, one arm wrapped around her stomach while the back of her free hand wiped her lips. Her always neat braid was messier than usual and bags lined beneath her eyes. "You look terrible, babe," Mira stated tactfully, earning a glare from both Mical and Meetra.
"Thanks," Meetra nodded sarcastically, though she had to agree. "Guess I look as bad as I feel."
As Meetra took her original place between the two, the Disciple decided to seize the opportunity. "Meetra, I don't mean to intrude on matters as personal as ones health and I always think you look absolutely beautiful, but I've been growing rather concerned for you as of late."
"We all have," Mira added sympathetically.
"May I draw some blood samples to be tested?" Mical asked. "I would send them to the Republic's finest physicians, men I trust. They would provide the utmost care and be sure to keep your condition - whatever it may be - private."
Although her heart was warmed by their concern, Meetra shook her head. "I'm fine," she stated, resting her palm on the Disciple's shoulder once she ensured it was clean while keeping the other firmly on her churning stomach. "Thank you though. Let's just get back to it." Not wanting to give either an opportunity to discuss the matter further - or show how concerned she was for her own health - Meetra widened the schematics and began strategizing once more.
oo-oo
The next morning was hell.
Gale force winds brought on by the polar ice caps made for a turbulent ride, exacerbating Meetra's illness. T3-M4 and Mandalore, the crew's tandem interim pilots in Atton's absence, tried to steady the ship to no avail. Instead of trying to run back and forth from her bedroom to the refresher, Meetra stationed herself in the wet room, knowing the sickness would only grow worse.
"General?" Bao called as he poked his head into the refresher.
Slumped over the refresher bowl, clutching its sides with both hands, Meetra lifted her head. "Yep," she replied weakly.
"We should arrive to Atris' academy within an hour or so," he announced before pausing to take in her sorry state as he stepped closer. "You don't look so good. Do you think you'll be ready?"
"Yeah," Meetra flashed a feeble smile. "Yeah, I'll be fine. Thanks. Just a bit of flight sickness. Happens every morning." As she lowered her head once more, Bao rushed to hold back her mussed hair and rub her back in a way that almost seemed too gentle for someone of his size and strength. "Thanks," she cleared her throat once the episode was over. "Sorry you had to see that."
"No need to apologize, General. I'm just glad I could help." Looking into her misery-filled eyes, the Zabrak patted her back once more. "I know not having Atton around has been hard on you." Unable to find the words to say, Meetra merely nodded.
It had only been days since she'd asked Grenn to arrest Atton, but it felt like years. Each day only made her miss him more. She wanted nothing more than for him to be by her side. The cold nights wouldn't have seemed so bad if he'd been beside her, holding her tight, but she couldn't focus on that right now. Instead, she was grateful for the support she had at the moment. "Thank you, Bao," Meetra smiled warmly, moving a hand to touch her old friend's rough cheek.
Returning her warm smile, Bao-Dur patted her on the back before rising to leave the refresher. Once alone, Meetra gathered her strength and walked to the small sink to rinse her face and hands. As she splashed the cool water against her face, she looked into the mirror. Mira was right - she did look awful. Worse than anytime in recent memory, including her years in exile. The years where she'd slept in the fields and in the streets. The years where she'd go for days without bathing or eating or human interaction, though never by choice.
They were the dark years when she'd been alone. Alone and forgotten. Swept under the rug of the Mandalorian Wars and the Jedi Council. Gazing at her pitiful reflection, a small well of vanity sprang up within her - in a strange way, she was glad Atton wasn't here. She didn't want him to see her like this, though Meetra doubted he would care about her appearance. The truth of the matter brought a smile to her face - she knew he wouldn't care about her appearance. The scoundrel who'd been with more women than he'd care to admit - even to her - accepted her for who she was, flaws and all and in return, she accepted him, just as he was.
With that in mind, she stood a little straighter and smoothed her disheveled hair. Inspite of the exhaustion painted across her face, her skin seemed to glow. However, her moment of happiness was cut short at the memory of what she'd done. Atton would never want to speak with her again, let alone love her. Her grief spiraled when she thought of having to face Atris soon, the woman who'd once been her best friend but was now her enemy. Since Atris' handmaidens captured Kreia, Meetra had wondered what her old friend had been doing to Kreia.
Suddenly, a light went off in Meetra's head - Atris must be torturing her former teacher and she was merely feeling the old woman's sufferings, a nasty repercussion of their strong Force bond. It had to be - what else could this sudden illness be?
Clinging to the glimmer of hope that her sickness meant Kreia was indeed still among the living, Meetra gave her face one last rinse and left the refresher. As she secured her holster and lightsaber around her hips, the ship began its descent, albeit rocky. Before Canderous could fully lower the ramp, Meetra jumped off the Hawk and into the snow.